Fire Emblem Awakening - Time Child
by metallover
Summary: Morgan and her father Robin are hiking through the mountains on a training exercise for her when they come across a frozen Fortress and are seperated, leaving Morgan to fend for herself against a darkness from another world. A one-shot tie-in to my greater story Invisible Ties detailing the forgotten origins of Robin's future daughter.


**Author's Note**

**(DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters, places or anything else; they remain property of Nintendo and Intelligent Systems. This is a work of fanfiction and love: please don't sue me.)**

**I got a little bored, so I thought I'd do a little one-shot starring Robin and Morgan from the alternate timeline Morgan supposedly comes from. It's cannon with the **_**Invisible Ties**_** story; not that it matters too much, since this Robin technically doesn't exist and Morgan loses her memories, but hey, I'm bored. Yes, I subscribe to the theory that the game Morgan comes from a third timeline. And before anyone says anything: yes, I am intentionally trolling you all by not mentioning Morgan's appearance or mother and by being intentionally vague on the details of this timeline. Enjoy those thoughts. Any reviews are, as always, loved and snuggled with (the good ones, anyway), and please enjoy!**

* * *

**Fire Emblem Awakening: Time Child**

Morgan huffed, her breath coming out in clouds of white mist, as she tried to keep pace with her father; for a man pushing sixty he was in great shape and practically flew up the mountain path they were hiking on.

"Daaaaad!" she called, stumbling. "Slow down! I'm… I'm not half mountain-goat like you are!"

Robin stopped and turned, his laughter reaching Morgan's ears and spurring her to catch up, if only to stop his mirth at her dawdling.

That's how she would describe her nineteen years of existence, though; struggling to catch up to her father's level in all things. After all, he was a great hero! She had some pretty big shoes to fill.

_General Robin, the greatest tactical mind Ylisse has ever seen,_ Morgan repeated sourly in her head. _Saviour of the world, leader of men, defeater of kings! And what am I? Morgan, she of the I-can't-even-hike-up-a-stupid-mountain. How did he get so fit, anyway? All I ever see him do is read those books and write his own!_

By the time Morgan caught up her father had already set up a small fire in an alcove shielded from the wind and was setting about brewing tea.

"You look like you could use a little pick-me-up," he said, smiling through the thick grey beard hiding much of his face.

"You just couldn't help but rub in the fact you're a better hiker than me," she huffed, practically falling into the alcove and leaning against the cold rock, pulling the hood of her own jacket off of her shoulder length hair.

"Well, that too," Robin admitted with a chuckle.

As they ate Morgan was unhappy to see it was starting to snow again.

"Dammit," she muttered, pulling her light jacket closer about her slender frame.

"Your mother did tell you to take something thicker," Robin said, extinguishing the small fire with a flick of his wrist and a small wind spell.

"I didn't think it would be snowing," Morgan complained, moving to stand closer to the warm embers.

Robin shook his head and pulled off his own coat. "Put this on over your jacket."

Morgan wordlessly took the coat. _His_ coat; the coat he had worn for forty years, fought three separate campaigns in, worn with pride through countless coronations, political meetings and even weddings and funerals. The faded brown cloth was worn almost to the texture of silk, but thanks to a spell the headmistress of the Royal Ylissean Mage Academy, Lady Miriel, had cast during the war against Plegia some thirty-five years ago and a number of hexes her Auntie Tharja had cast around the same time, it still looked almost brand new. Morgan also knew that it was warmer than anything she owned, and tough enough to turn most glancing blows.

"Are you sure, dad?" she asked, rubbing the cloth between her fingers.

_So light… and yet I've seen it stop arrows!_ She thought, eying the garment.

"I'm already wearing a blanket as a cloak, so yes," Robin answered.

When Morgan looked up she burst out laughing. Her father, the General, the world-renowned tactical genius, was indeed wearing a thick blanket as a cloak, pinned at the neck to create a sort of hood.

"Tactical adaptability and creativity," he said proudly, swishing his creation about in the snow before posing heroically with his legs spread wide and his fists oh his hips. "It's what got me where I am today!"

"Standing on a frozen mountain wearing a blanket as a cloak," Morgan teased as she slipped into his coat.

Instantly she was hit by the aroma it carried; mother had once complained that the coat stank of a thousand battles and a hundred land's worth of sweat, but all Morgan could think was just how much it smelled like her father. It was a little embarrassing to admit, but it almost felt like she would be walking around wearing one of his hugs.

"Many have mocked my tactical brilliance over the decades, my very young pupil," Robin said mock-seriously as he shouldered his pack again. "And they're all dead. Remember that."

* * *

"What are we doing on this Naga-forsaken mountain again?" Morgan asked, again out of breath as she followed in her father's wake.

The snow had, mercifully, stayed light, but it was still cold and they were still trudging further into the mountains, away from hot beds and sweet cakes. Dark clouds threatened with a snowstorm, too, so Morgan was in a hurry to do whatever weird training exercise her father had come up with and go home.

When her father had suggested a trip to Regna Ferox, Morgan had thought they would be going to visit Khan Flavia, Sir Lon'qu or even Old Man Gregor, but he had led them to an obscure village at the base of an even more obscure mountain range, all at the beck and call of an obscure legend, and in the name of Morgan's training.

"_You have to get out and see the world more,"_ he always said. _"You can only learn so much from books and tomes; the real adventures are out there waiting!"_

"We're almost there," Robin said reassuringly as they crested the slope they were climbing.

Morgan's breath caught in her throat as she beheld the spectacle before them.

An ancient, snow shrouded fortress built into the mountains sat half buried by ice and earth, its massive stone walls and parapets breaking the natural skyline of the mountains as they reached for the heavens. Morgan could tell at a glance that it was abandoned, but there was a certain aura of majesty about it that screamed of a bygone age of heroes and magic.

_Cynthia and Owain would love this place_, Morgan thought as they began to descend, thinking fondly of her childhood friends and fellow 'Justice Cabal' members.

Morgan snickered just thinking about the silly games they used to play; heroes vanquishing villains and monsters, just like their parents had, inventing fanciful narratives and 'super-secret' combo attacks that more often than not ended with one or more of them on their rear.

"Stop laughing at my blanket," her father said, pretending to be offended in that joking way he always did.

"But it's so fluffy and soft!" Morgan persisted, running her bare hands all over her father's back.

"I could throw you off this cliff and no one would ever know."

"Nah. You'd miss me too much."

"You were so much more fun when you believed my little threats like that," Robin sighed, dropping his head a little. "I guess my baby's all grown up now."

"Oh no, Daddy!" Morgan squealed in a high-pitched voice, grabbing hold of her father's arm. "I'll be good, I promise! Don't throw me off the cliff!"

Robin laughed, tugging at his arm and trying to regain his balance.

"All right, all right! Release me, foul creatu-AUGH!"

"Fath-EEK!"

Too busy playing, Robin and Morgan had both missed the patch of ice on the ground, and both slipped, falling dangerously close to the edge of the trail. And the cliff.

"That was close," Morgan breathed, eyeing the cliff.

"I should really know better than that," her father said, shaking his head. "'Winter-travel rule one: watch your footing'."

He had fallen much closer to the edge, Morgan noticed guiltily.

"I'm sorry, father," Morgan said, rising and offering him her hand.

"It's okay, honey," he said, smiling up at her.

A loud crack broke the mountain ambiance, drowning out the wind for a second.

Robin and Morgan's eyes both went wide, before Robin fell backwards, tumbling off the cliff.

"FATHER!" Morgan shrieked, throwing herself to her stomach and reaching over the cliff.

_Too slow; far, far too slow…_

Tears sprung to Morgan's eyes as her father slid down the cliff into the blinding snow and wind.

"FATHER!" Morgan called again, more desperately.

Seconds passed, and Morgan began panicking further, expecting the worst, before she could just make out a voice over the wind.

"I'm alright!" her father shouted from somewhere beneath her. "Head for the Fortress! Meet me in the entry hall!"

"Alright!" she shouted back, choking down her tears.

"I love you Morgan!" he called. "Stay safe, okay!?"

"I love you too, dad!"

_He's okay!_ She thought, relief making her momentarily too weak to stand. _Thank Naga, he's alright! Gods… Mom would've killed me…_

* * *

Morgan collapsed as she entered the fortress, crawling out of the intensifying snowstorm outside and behind a pillar, trying to catch her breath. She had practically run there after she had become separated from her father, vigilantly watching her footing the entire way.

The entry hall to the Fortress was, in one word, epic. Strategically placed windows, their glass long since shattered and gone, let in the perfect amount of light, amplified by the layer of ice on half of the surfaces, making the interior just as bright as the outside. Huge stone pillars, like the one Morgan was leaning on, held up a high, arched ceiling, and doorways sat invitingly, coercing Morgan with the promise of knowledge and treasure.

Having caught her breath, Morgan stood, convincing herself that her father would appreciate finding her with a roaring fire to warm himself with. Choosing one of the doorways at random Morgan set off with the intention of finding something worth burning, leaving her pack with a note attached to it reading 'gone to find stuff to burn. M' near the pole, easily visible to anyone entering the hall.

* * *

"Wowee…" Morgan breathed, looking around in awe.

She had travelled to what she roughly guessed was the centre of the Fortress, not finding anything to burn, but still pushing on if for no other reason than she had already started. The huge building was abandoned, but still felt somehow warm, like someone still lived there. And not in a creepy ghost way, either, Morgan realized.

Morgan stepped deeper into the room she had found, a huge, circular room with an altar in the centre, a tear-shaped groove carved into the middle of it.

Morgan walked around the outside walls, marvelling at the beautifully carved murals of heroes fighting monsters and beasts, but strangely never each other. At the other end of the room there was a huge mural of Naga and Grima locked in awesome aerial combat, breathing fire at each other as human, Manakete and Taguel heroes watched.

"This is so cool!" Morgan muttered, completely absorbed in the mural.

"Morgan? There you are!"

Morgan jumped a foot into the air. She had been so preoccupied with the mural she had completely missed her father approaching!

"Dad!" she shouted happily, spinning and starting to run towards him, only to stop short.

She wasn't quite the mage he was yet, but something seemed… off to her. Her magical sixth sense screamed for attention. But he was standing right in front of her, completely fine and unhurt, smiling his lopsided grin the way he always did, arms crossed and leaning back, his long grey hair fluttering in the slight breeze in the hallway.

"Where's your blanket?" she asked nervously, approaching much slower.

"I lost it when I fell," he answered simply.

No joke. Just a simple statement of facts. Something was seriously wrong.

"Are you… okay?" Morgan asked, her concern growing.

"I'm fine, Morgan," he said, uncrossing his arms.

As he did, Morgan noticed an evil looking purple brand on the back of his hand that had never been there before.

Morgan started backing away, hand falling to the sword strapped to her hip. "I don't know who or what you are, but stay away from me."

"Child, it's me," the imposter wearing her father's face said, stepping forward, still smiling her father's lopsided grin.

"I said stay back!" Morgan said, drawing her sword. "You never call me by my full name! You never called me 'child'! And my father would have hit me with some sort of sneak attack while my attention was elsewhere! What have you done with him!?"

The imposter tsked, flicking his wrist to the side. A dark cloud appeared behind him, coalescing into a perfect copy of the coat she was currently wearing. As the coat coalesced, his hair shrunk and his beard disappeared; he also seemed to age in reverse until he looked barely older than Morgan.

"I was hoping to do this the easy way," the imposter said, drawing up his hood. "No matter. You will serve me regardless."

Without warning the man-that-was-not-her-father thrust out his hands, dark fire shooting in a jet towards Morgan. She barely had time to scream before the flames found her and she shut her eyes tight. However, instead of searing pain, she felt nothing. Cracking her eyes, she was surprised to see a translucent green barrier protecting her.

"Run," a disembodied woman's voice said, no louder than a whisper.

Without further urging Morgan spun and ran as fast as her tired legs would carry her, turning randomly down hallways and not slowing.

"You can run," the imposter called after her, "But I will catch you, and you will be my servant!"

A very draconian roar shook the walls as she ran, followed by bone-chilling laughter, prompting Morgan to push herself harder.

"Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap," Morgan repeated over and over as she pelted down the Fortress' hallways.

She stopped dead when another green barrier popped up in an intersection.

"This way," the voice from earlier said again, distinctly coming from the left path.

Not having anything to lose, Morgan followed the voice, bursting out into the harsh white daylight onto a high balcony.

There, standing in the middle of the balcony, exposed to all of the elements but apparently not being touched by them, was a beautiful woman.

She stood, unperturbed by the blistering wind or biting cold, the snow seeming to dance around her long, green hair, wearing a beautiful, shimmering white gown that was in no way winter clothing.

"There is not much time, Child of Destiny," she said softly, her words reaching Morgan's ears unnaturally over the howling wind.

"Who are you!?" Morgan shouted. "Where's my father!?"

The woman looked down, sadness radiating from her frame. Morgan could feel it like a physical thing, it was so potent.

"He has been slain," she said sadly.

"NO!" Morgan shrieked.

"YES!" the imposter's voice rumbled from behind her.

He stood in the doorway, physical darkness radiating out around him.

"He was weak, so I erased him! In this timeline he never had cause to become strong and become what I am! What we were always destined to be, in this and every other timeline!"

"Be silent, Grima," the woman said, her soft words hiding an edge of steel.

Morgan gaped and stepped back, Grima smiling with her father's face, his mouth distending horribly to reveal far too many razor sharp fangs.

The Dark Dragon, enemy of all life and destroyer of the previous age, stood before her in her father's skin. And he wanted her for some nefarious plan that would no doubt end in her death. Morgan gulped, staring into the fathomless black orbs set in her father's eye sockets.

"Come now, Nagi," Grima purred. "Surely you would let this poor girl serve her father's will?"

"You are not my father!" Morgan shouted defiantly, fear forgotten, brandishing her sword even as the tears froze on her cheeks. "I'll die before I serve you!"

Whether he really was the Dark Dragon or not was a moot point; he had killed her father and would pay.

"Morgan," the woman, Nagi, whispered in her ear, appearing at Morgan's side. "You must walk a different path."

Ignoring the woman, Morgan shouted a wordless warcry as she charged at Grima, sword held in a high-guard.

Grima seemed to chuckle as he lazily lifted a hand and Morgan went flying backwards. She couldn't be sure, though, as everything became hazy and all she could hear was a loud ringing.

Morgan sobbed once in frustration as she forced herself to roll to her knees. Nagi stood before her, holding out one perfect hand and deflecting another of Grima's jets of flame with another green barrier.

"You must escape," she said, strain evident in her voice. "I cannot match him for long."

"Escape where!?" Morgan cried.

Nagi smiled. "All will be made clear, child."

The woman pointed with her other hand, and a swirling green vortex appeared in the air behind Morgan.

"NO!" Grima howled, his face distending further and becoming reptilian, eyes glowing a deep, baleful red. "SHE IS _MINE_!"

"Go," Nagi gasped, faltering as Grima poured even more flames into the barrier.

Morgan didn't have time to think, instead doing something her father had always cautioned her against, and raced for the portal, acting on instinct.

Grima howled wordlessly, Nagi shrieked, and Morgan knew she was unprotected. A few more steps and she'd be at the portal, though…

An icy hand grabbed a hold of her hair as she reached the portal, yanking her head back.

Without turning Morgan struck out with her sword, breaking free as Grima roared in pain and frustration and launching herself into the portal.

Shouting defiance Grima sent a final spell after Morgan, who instantly felt the world go cold and her thoughts slip away as the portal enveloped her.

* * *

Morgan woke in a field, hand instantly going to her head. She remembered… Nothing.

Sitting up gingerly, Morgan looked around, taking stock of her surroundings.

"Where am I?" Morgan asked the air groggily.

Standing, she turned in a circle.

_Mountains, mountains, mountains… Ah! A path! May as well see where it leads. Maybe father's waiting at the end of it._

Smiling at the thought of catching up to her father, Morgan held his coat closer around her as she walked, humming happily to herself.

_I'm sure he's not that far ahead. He'll know what happened. And why I can't remember things. And I'm sure he'll have food! Gods I'm hungry..._

_**Fin**_


End file.
